Dawes and the other man glanced at them, and panic flared in Dawes’s face. He glanced around wildly, as though looking for an escape route. The other man pulled a pistol from his greatcoat’s deep pockets and aimed at Alec.
Grabbing Fish’s boney shoulders, Alec threw himself to the side as the man fired. The bullet whizzed past and hit the wall, and all hell broke loose. Patients screamed. Apprentices yelled and dove for cover. Dawes spun and bolted through a doorway.
Ignoring the chaos around him, Alec raced after him. As he cleared the doorway, another shot blasted behind him. More shouts and sounds of metal clanging and rushing feet, but he didn’t look back. He kept his gaze fixed on Dawes’s fleeing figure.
The apprentice shot a frantic glance over his shoulder as he shoved open another door in front of him and flew out into the alley. Seconds later, Alec charged through the door.
Dawes was gone.
Ice-cold fear shot through Alec. Heart hammering, he cocked his head and listened, and heard running footsteps to his right. He jogged down the lane, eyes scanning left and right. The pungent odor of refuse rose up all around him. He glimpsed rats the size of small dogs scurrying along the crumbling brick foundations of the tenements.
Still no Dawes.
He was in a labyrinth, now with more people, standing or slumped in doorways, crouched in their makeshift hovels. Staring at him with bleary, brooding eyes. Alec stopped in front of a greasy-haired man with sharp, foxlike features and sly eyes.
“Did you see a man run by?” he asked. “Young. Ginger hair.”
“W’ot’s in it fer me, if I tell ye?”
Alec pulled his weapon from his pocket. Eyes locked on the other man, he walked forward until his gun was a whisper from the man’s soot-smeared forehead.
“I’ll let you live.”
***
Sweat glazed Kendra’s forehead as star-bright pain sizzled through her from both the knife wound and Dandridge’s stitching.
“This is a mistake.” Dandridge’s face was grim as he dressed the wound, wrapping gauzy strips tight around Kendra’s waist. “Keeping her alive.”
“I don’t think so,” Sir Preston replied. “We have two perfectly good specimens now for the machine.”
They were talking like Kendra wasn’t even there. Like she was a rat in a cage.
She released a shuddering breath, watching Dandridge gather and dispose of the blood-soaked rags. If she didn’t die of an infection, it would be a miracle.
On the other hand, she doubted they were planning to let her live long enough for that.
She pressed her hands against the bandage as she sat up. Her gaze fell on the scissors. She was as shaky as a newborn colt, but if she could get to them . . .
“You’d only damage yourself and ruin Mr. Dandridge’s excellent work, my lady,” Sir Preston chided, following her eyes and picking up the scissors. “I’ll remove the temptation.”
He had the gall to smile at her.Bastard.
She took a cautious breath and let it out slowly. “You really think you will be able to cure syphilis with your machine?” she asked, swinging her legs over the table.
“Careful,” Sir Preston warned. “If you try to escape, you won’t get far.”
“I’m not running. I want a closer look at your invention.”
Pride flashed in Dandridge’s eyes as he stepped over to the large wooden box. She knew how to deal with scientists with massive egos.
Kendra could see the six jars inside the box. About the size of overripe melons, metal foil was wrapped around the bottoms and rod electrodes protruded from their lids. More metal tubes were attached to extra containers and wire coils sprouted from each jar like an avante-garde sculpture.
“It’s your invention, Mr. Dandridge?” She remembered how he’d argued about the possible benefits of electricity at St. George’s.
“It was my idea, yes.” He gave the box a loving stroke. “I came up with it after I saw the electricity experiments. Sir Preston was the one who imagined it could be used to purify the blood, as so many diseases originate there.”
Sir Preston said, “You and the girl might not have the pox, but you’ll be able to provide us with a unique opportunity of study.”
